


Virtual Flattery

by Jarakrisafis



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-26
Updated: 2012-02-26
Packaged: 2017-11-03 19:15:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/384909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/pseuds/Jarakrisafis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet is trying to put Jazz back together. Jazz isn't helping...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Virtual Flattery

**Author's Note:**

> LJ tf speedwriting, Prompt 1: Poetic license & 2: Dreamscape

Ratchet sighed, a distinctive human trait, but at this exact moment it summed up his feelings all too well. 

The mech beside him preened, flickering his plating at the medic, who simply sighed again, venting atmosphere from his vent system with a whistling hiss. "If you would cooperate it would be greatly appreciated." If sarcasm could kill the mech would be flat on his aft for the second time. 

Thankfully for Jazz, sarcasm doesn't seem to be a primary cause of deactivation for Cybertronians. "Sorry Ratch." 

The white and red medic merely huffed, his armour flaring lightly. "I'm trying to work, you aren't helping." 

"Sorry." The silver mech stood still for several nanoclicks before bouncing lightly on his stabilisers as he leans over the medic who is plugged into a console typing away at lines of coding. "But what would happen if I do this?" 

Ratchet twitched. 

Jazz yelped as a heavy hand, complete with a new paint colour, landed on his scruff, hoisting him into the air like a recalcitrant sparkling. "Stop meddling. I can't bring you back online till I've repaired all the coding issues." The silver mech was abruptly dropped as Ratchet sat back down and returned to his console. 

It wasn't his fault he was bored. He'd been sitting here for vorns and vorns and vorns. Well, maybe not quite that long, but it felt like it, while Ratchet shifted through his coding. He couldn't help it if he was totally and utterly bored stiff. So stiff his physical form has probably rusted away by now. So really, could Ratchet expect anything else? 

And then he found something in his coding that shouldnt have been accessable. So sue him, as the humans say, for being curious. But after a short inspection realised he had found something that could keep him occupied. 

Medical codes, meant to be locked away behind firewalls unless a medic hardlines in and accesses them. Codes that can shape the virtual reality of a mechs processor so that a medic can keep them calm or explain things. 

Adjusting the medic back to his current Primus forsaken lime green colour scheme he earns a muttered thanks. And now he's bored again. He's changed the landscape, orange upside down organic trees with tentacles in a purple swamp currently, he's changed Ratchet back to his Cybertronian red and white, and then to a glorious shade of pink, which apparently wasn't appreciated as his collar plating still feels dented, and now he can do what? 

It is not till Ratchet glances up, wary about what has kept his patient quiet for so long that he finds out what Jazz decided to do next. "What the slag do you call that?" Ratchet asks, a faint splutter of static clouding his voice as he tries not to laugh at the utterly ridiculous image. 

Jazz grins, his virtual reality form now resembling Ratchets, except he has what the humans would call devil horns perched on top of his helm, the required wings and tail are also present and a large wrench completes the image. "Poetic License?"


End file.
